Fair land, so fair it gives the mind distress
To think that people of our common clay,
Dwelling in thee, may mar or render less
Thy serene charm by what men do or say.
I, like a lover, my unworthiness confess;
Here should but pure Elysian spirits play.
Wonder, beholding thee, can scarce suppress
A haunting sense at times, as though there lay
Beneath this raiment still more exquisite a dress,
Covered to hide from mortal gaze away
The too entrancing vision of its loveliness.
by Geerhardus Vos